


Stark White

by ImaginationWell



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5 times Hajime sees him alive and the 1 time he doesn't, 5+1 Things, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Relationship Study, War AU, battlefield AU, civilian!iwaizumi, hajime has a lip fetish, hence the general tag, no actual relationship is formed, soldier!oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginationWell/pseuds/ImaginationWell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Hajime sees him, he is bold and bright and full of energy.<br/>The last time Hajime sees him he is anything but that.</p><p>And yet, despite ever knowing him, he had managed to change Hajime's life in a way no one else ever could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stark White

The first time Hajime saw him, his lips were full and a light pink. They were tilted upward slightly, with an almost bitter smile, his chocolate brown eyes raking over the pink purple orange horizon. They were sad and his lips were reminiscent of a better past. Hajime had stared at him from afar, watching his pink lips and brown eyes, before slinking back into the darkness.

 

The second time Hajime saw him, his lips were coated with grains of yellow-brown sand, and they were pursed tightly together to keep the sand out from his mouth. His eyes were weary and dreading, his gait long and short, swift and rigid at the same time. He was next to a man with striped yellow hair, with a fierce scowl and hardened eyes. The man paid no attention as the one next to him droned on. Hajime caught a snippet of their one-sided conversation.  
"...casualties rate has skyrocketed, Oikawa, we need to _go_ , right _now_..."  
The man, Oikawa, and his counterpart walk away, his face never changing from its rigid structure.

 

The third time Hajime saw him, his lips were a bloodied red. Whether it was his own or someone else's, he never found out. They were set into a rigid, straight line, his eyes staring straight ahead, showing no emotion of grief or pain or pleasure. He seemed to be limping, slightly, favoring his right foot over his left. Small tufts of light brown hair peeked out of his helmet, streaked with bright red and dull copper. There was no one walking with him that day.

 

The fourth time Hajime saw him, his lips were bright blue, tinted with pale white. He lay on the cold, frozen ground, his lips barely closed together. There was no movement underneath his closed eyelids, and Hajime's heart had began to race. His legs were still, and his hair was frozen, hanging limply over his eyes. Hajime had looked around, confirming that he was alone, and slowly crouched down. He hovered an uncertain hand over Oikawa's chest, before lightly placing it over his heart. Hajime had barely been able to make out the faint _ba-dump, ba-dump_ , of his heartbeat. Hajime breathed out a soft sigh of relief, and looked over Oikawa once more. The tips of his fingers were a shockingly pale white, and his lips looked even bluer than they did before. Hajime had hesitantly hovered his hand over his lips, and lightly, lightly brushed his fingertips over his mouth. They were ice cold. Hajime drew his hand back sharply, bit his lip, and made a split second decision before digging out a thick red blanket from the pack he carried with him. He laid it lightly over Oikawa's body, before standing up quickly and running far away. Mother had given him one hell of a beating when he got home.

 

The fifth time Hajime saw him, his lips were bruised purple and black, a trickle of dark red blood dripping down the side of his chin. His eyes were squinted close, maybe to block out sandy wind from getting in his eyes, maybe because of the pain. His gait that day was short and jerky, the limp more pronounced than it was before. There was a tear in his left pant leg, revealing a deep gash in his thigh. His counterpart was still nowhere to be seen. His hair, though, was still tucked neatly into his helmet, which was covered in dirt and blood. His hands were clenching and unclenching repeatedly, and Hajime caught sight of long, dirtied fingernails, blighted with blood. With every step, his breath seemed to get more labored, his limp worst. Finally, after the pain looked to be too unbearable, he stopped, and crouched down. He reached behind him into his pack, and drew out a thick red blanket. Hajime drew in a sharp breath. Oikawa took the blanket, and with some difficulty, tore it in half. He took the two strips and tied them expertly on and around his wound, got up and resumed walking. Maybe it was just Hajime's overactive imagination, but it seemed as if Oikawa's limp was less pronounced now.

 

The sixth time Hajime sees him, his lips are deathly pale. He is lying limp on the sandy earth, his eyes wide open, staring at nothing. His lips are slightly parted, white and chapped and devoid of life. His hair is covered in grainy yellow sand, making it look bleached and dead. The area on his leg where the wound used to be is yellowish-green, a color that makes Hajime sick just by looking at it. The blanket he had given to him is no where in sight, probably kilometers away from here, shredded and in tatters. His fingers are incredibly pale, as is the rest of his skin, and Hajime thinks of how odd it is that his skin is still so white after fighting in the front lines in the blazing sun. His chest is completely still; it doesn't twitch nor rise once. He stares at him, wondering whether it's worth the risk to walk up to his still body. He thinks back, to his small, dark room that he shares with three of his six siblings. He thinks about his day long trips to the watering hole and back, twice every week, to quench the thirst of seven other people in his family. He thinks of his entire life, up to this point. Twenty-five years of his life had passed. Twenty-five years. And not a single memorable event that he remembered. Not a single feat that he was proud of accomplishing. Nothing. Hajime looks behind him, at the walls of homes that housed families nearly identical to his. He turns and looks in front, out at the vast expanse of desert and sand and scorching heat. He steps out from the shade.

 _A year has passed since I first saw this mysterious man, his walk determined and his gaze headstrong. A year has passed since my life suddenly had a sense of purpose, and even though it was shallow and blurry, it was still_ there _. Am I going to go back, now? After everything?_

Hajime looks in front of him again. There is no one heading towards them. He takes another step out, and another, and another, until he is breaking into a sprint, running faster than he ever has in his life. He skids to a stop in front of Oikawa, in front of this man that he never got to meet, and yet still managed to change his life. Hajime kneels down, to his side, and gently closes his eyelids.

"Thank you," he whispers, stands up, and starts to leave again. He looks back only once, and all he sees is a swarm of people racing towards the dead body on the sandy terrain, and a glimpse of stark white lips.

**Author's Note:**

> ((That tense change at the end was on purpose, just so you know))
> 
> So I wrote this mostly as a study of iwaoi's relationship, how they affect each other, etc, like I said in the tags. Who knows if I'll ever get around to actually writing something.


End file.
